


The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret

by robotboy



Series: Flying Blind [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, M/M, Mission Fic, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/pseuds/robotboy
Summary: An adventurous pilot and a curious bounty hunter walk into a bar.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Flying Blind [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698328
Comments: 46
Kudos: 273





	The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret

It wasn’t the seediest bar on Coruscant, not by far. But it might have been the stickiest. Poe rested his elbow against it as he sipped his drink, quietly surveying the other patrons.

Tonight he was playing himself off as a freelance spice runner, a little jumped up on his own product.Looking for work that would take him in the direction of Ord Mantell, if anyone in the bar knew of opportunities. He had made it perfectly clear in his enquiries that he was an opportunistic sort of character.

His character looked different from the Resistance pilot in the wanted holos: his hair was slicked back, eyes smudged with kohl. He had a saunter so sinuous it would have got him kicked out of the Academy. His shirt‘s neckline hung around the navel, and with the tacky remains of spilled drinks seeping into it, Poe looked forward to getting rid of it. One way or another, he usually lost his shirt on missions like this.

The mission was to find shipping manifests running through Ord Mantell. The First Order had an illegal detention facility floating around that sector, but the Resistance had no leads on which ship. The supply lines would be the only tell: the First Order was relying on cartel shipments to avoid sanctions. So Poe was here, the stickiest bar of Coruscant, hoping to loosen some tongues without losing any teeth.

‘We use every asset to our advantage,’ Leia had told him. Well, Poe had assets. He had his contacts from the Kijimi assignment—at least a few bridges he hadn’t burned. They had led him here, and his other assets might get him the rest of the way.

‘Heard you were looking for a job.’

Poe turned his head. Further down the bar was a Mandalorian. Poe had assumed he was waiting for someone, rather than eavesdropping. Then again, Mandalorians did all kinds of jobs for all kinds of factions. Maybe this one was in the spice trade.

He twisted slowly around for a better look. The Mandalorian was broad-shouldered, long-legged, and taller than Poe. The rest, he could only guess.

‘You offering?’ Poe asked. His hips canted slightly, and his gaze was hooded, but it was possible his natural charms would slide right off the beskar.

‘I don’t run spice,’ the Mandalorian’s voice was husky, even through the helmet. ‘But I know what you need.’

He cocked his head, sliding closer to Poe. The signal was obvious, even without a face to read: his shoulder brushed against Poe’s, their torsos angled into one another’s space. Poe took a sip of his drink, looking up through his lashes.

The Mandalorian flagged the bartender, and gestured at Poe.

‘His next one’s on me,’ he told the bartender. Smart, Poe realised: still paying for drinks, even if he wasn’t going to partake. Poe doubted they made straws to fit under helmets.

Poe’s cup was almost empty, so he drained it and slung it across the bar in exchange for another. The drink was more fizz than alcohol: Poe was keeping his wits sharp tonight.

‘Much obliged,’ he raised his cup to the Mandalorian in thanks. This time, he took a long drink, head thrown back and swallowing visibly. The tactic was effective: the Mandalorian’s weight shifted as he watched.

‘So, what is it I need?’ Poe asked.

Poe thought he heard a snort through the helmet. ‘Contact with the Black Sun gang. They handle everything spinward of Ord Mantell.’

‘And you can get me that?’ Poe drew his bottom lip between his teeth.

Maybe he was laying it on too thick: he didn’t even know what this guy looked like. Then again, it wasn’t likely he’d find out—so no reason to mind either way. Probably human, probably male, definitely nice shoulders, and Poe was flexible about all three. Poe had his shots, and a sense of adventure. The Mandalorian was interested, and he was _interesting._

‘That depends,’ the Mandalorian’s fingers tapped the bar silently. ‘What’s in it for me?’

Poe’s hand moved: not close enough to touch, but enough to acknowledge the restlessness.

‘I could be in it for you,’ he suggested.

There was a pause. It was long enough that Poe opened his mouth to suggest _or credits,_ then the Mandalorian spoke. ‘Alright.’

Warmth suffused Poe’s cheeks. He shot a smile at the Mandalorian that probably didn’t fit his spice-running persona.

‘So, did you wanna—?’

‘—My ship,’ the Mandalorian suggested. He paid the barman, and his hand slid along Poe’s waist as it returned.

‘Just so we’re clear,’ Poe lowered his voice. ‘You don’t have a contact from Black Sun on your ship?’

The Mandalorian twitched like he was laughing.

‘No,’ there was amusement in his voice. ‘I can give you their details.’

This could be a spectacularly bad idea, but then if a Mandalorian wanted to kill him, he wouldn’t need to get Poe onto his ship first. If it came to that, the knife strapped to Poe’s waist would be more useful than a blaster. Easier to aim at the soft places.

The ship was a classic model, and it took all of Poe’s self-control not to fawn over the sleek curves and hefty chassis of pre-Empire engineering. Still, he was a flyboy, so he whistled through his teeth. The Mandalorian slowed to let him admire the outside: he must be used to it.

‘Gonna invite me in?’ Poe asked, and the Mandalorian lowered the ramp.

The inside was messier than Poe expected: he’d assumed Mandalorians were disciplined in every aspect of life, but this looked more like the living space of a small family than a warrior’s starfighter. Two beds, an alarmingly small fresher, and further down the hold, something that looked a lot like carbonite equipment. Above the smaller bed was a string of gadgets. Poe guessed it had some kind of cultural significance: to his eye, it looked like a toy. Regardless, Poe and the Mandalorian were the only two on the ship: no family, no Black Sun contact.

The Mandalorian steered him in the direction of the larger bed, and Poe leaned against it, hip cocked. Gloved fingers trailed over Poe’s flank before the Mandalorian started digging in a cupboard. Poe caught a hint of pale skin at the wrist and glanced away, crossing one foot over the other.

‘So, how do we...?’

‘Take this,’ the Mandalorian held up a mask. It was similar to a pilot’s visor, but opaque. Poe found the inside—the side that would be pressed to his face—was soft suede. ‘Any time you wanna back out, we stop. Just, if you do...’

‘I won’t take it off,’ Poe promises.

The Mandalorian was trusting Poe not to peek. Poe was trusting the Mandalorian not to freeze him in carbonite. By Mandalorian standards, this was a fair exchange.

Poe slipped the mask over his face, getting it settled on his nose. He fumbled with the strap and the Mandalorian reached out to help him adjust it. His hands lingered, cupping Poe’s jaw, thumb stroking over Poe’s chin. Poe shivered, his lips parting. His tongue darted out instinctively to wet them, catching a taste of leather. The Mandalorian was standing so close that Poe heard his breath of surprise.

‘Comfortable?’ he asked. Poe nodded, sinking into the pressure of knuckles under his jaw. ‘Say it.’

‘I’m comfortable,’ Poe assured him.

The touch relaxed a little, slipping down Poe’s throat to his clavicle. Poe braced his hands on the edge of the mattress, proffering himself. The Mandalorian nudged Poe’s shirt further open, exploring.

‘You wanna take this off?’ he suggested, and Poe almost tore it away. The blade strapped around his waist was exposed, but the Mandalorian didn’t react. After a moment, Poe removed it too.

Poe’s chest rose and fell as he breathed. He felt the sheen of sweat on his skin, not just from the heat of the ship.

Fingertips. For some reason, Poe had imagined the gloves would stay on. The Mandalorian’s touch was light, tracing the shape of Poe’s collarbones, then his chest. It was gentle enough at his nipples that Poe shuddered, leaning forward. A finger tapped him: patience.

The hands made their way down Poe’s torso, testing where he was sensitive, following the grooves of his hips. The pants were too tight to leave anything to the imagination, including Poe’s growing arousal. There was something about being seen without seeing. But being touched without touching, that was different.

‘Can I...?’ he reached out blindly, finding the soft leather of the Mandalorian’s waist. The Mandalorian stepped forward, giving Poe better access. It wasn’t an embrace, but its own kind of intimate. Poe found the hem of the tunic and slid under it instinctively, finding warm skin that shivered at the contact. His fingertips looped into the waistband of the pants, and the Mandalorian’s thigh pressed between his own. Poe ground against it, but it offered no relief. He was getting harder, the more he was allowed to touch beneath the armour. Every inch of soft skin was a revelation, and Poe’s breath stuttered as he dragged the waistband incrementally lower, the armoured plates of the Mandalorian’s thighs shifting as they lost their place.

‘This okay?’ Poe asked. Surely the Mandalorian would stop anything unwanted, but it never hurt to ask.

‘Better than okay,’ came the husky reply. The Mandalorian’s hand cupped the growing bulge in Poe’s pants, making Poe whine. A rhythmic, confident pressure that made Poe feel distinctly sized up. He rutted into the Mandalorian’s grip, trying to string words together. The Mandalorian peeled the fabric away, letting Poe’s cock spring free. Poe wasn’t so much undressing the Mandalorian anymore as he was clinging for balance, knees getting weak as the Mandalorian stroked him.

‘I... uh,’ he swallowed, focusing. ‘I want to—let me...’

This wasn’t getting done any other way, because Poe didn’t want to come now, yet, all over the Mandalorian’s tunic. He dropped to his knees and grabbed the Mandalorian by the hips. He kept pulling at the waistband until the Mandalorian took his cue. Leather groaned and beskar clinked, and Poe could smell the difference when the Mandalorian was undressed. He was musky, strong without being stale, and more intoxicating than the cocktails Poe had been drinking.

Fingers under his chin, tilting his head up. Poe arched, cock insistently hard and exposed, knees spread on the floor. A thumb pressed his lower lip, dragging down the swell of it as Poe’s mouth fell open. The edge of the Mandalorian’s nail traced the line of the cupid’s bow, running along the tips of Poe’s teeth until Poe’s tongue flicked against the pad of the Mandalorian’s thumb. Salt, and leather. Poe drew the digit into his mouth, tongue curling, until he could suckle and hollow his cheeks. The invitation was obvious: the Mandalorian took it. Poe reached a hand out, as gentle as one might approach a fathier, and found the Mandalorian’s thigh. His legs were longer and slimmer than Poe might have guessed: the fact distracted him as he ran a hand up each, stroking, squeezing, before steering the Mandalorian to lean back against the edge of the bunk.

The thumb slipped from his mouth and Poe chased it: the Mandalorian cupped his cheek, flicking his bottom lip playfully. Poe settled himself to kneel between the Mandalorian’s thighs, hands working their way up to find the shape of those hips. He inched forward, mouth following in the wake of his hands. The ghost of a kiss to one hipbone, a nibble of the firm flank beside it. Poe focused on the shiver and rise of the Mandalorian, the flutter of his belly as his breath shortened—silent signs of pleasure. Poe kissed and nipped tender flesh, tongue sneaking out for a short taste before moving elsewhere, hands still steady on the Mandalorian’s sides. Below his navel was hair so thick Poe would call it a pelt, if he hadn’t bedded beings with actual pelts. Still, a nest of it that Poe nuzzled into, exhaling sharply with his own arousal. Fingers weaved into his hair, rubbing his scalp with encouragement. Poe purred at the feeling, mouthing his way down the Mandalorian’s abdomen. The grip in his hair tightened as he got closer, and Poe relished the slight sting when he exhaled, the heat of his breath not enough for the Mandalorian.

His lips parted with a wet click, brushing over the velvet skin of the Mandalorian’s cock. Poe struggled not to smile, keeping his mouth soft and sweet, while the Mandalorian’s cock twitched at the contact, filling quickly. Poe mouthed gently, learning the weight of it, hand curling around the shaft as his lips dragged slowly toward the head. He lingered, so long he could feel the frustration coiling under the Mandalorian’s skin, before flicking his tongue. The Mandalorian shuddered and Poe tasted salt, circling and nudging to test what provoked a reaction. A long, broad lick of the head made the Mandalorian’s hips jerk forward: the loose fist Poe had around his shaft kept the movement in check. Poe lapped again, firm and wet, until the Mandalorian’s cock was throbbing, slick building at the tip. Poe’s lips slid over the head, drawing back quickly—he liked to tease. The Mandalorian tugged his hair, though it felt more like surprise than annoyance. Poe’s mouth was back on his cock in an instant, deeper this time.

It was big—not impossible, but a challenge. Poe loved a challenge.

He hollowed his cheeks and sucked. The Mandalorian groaned. Poe bobbed his head as he worked, hand pumping to spread the spit-slick everywhere. His tongue curled slowly, pressing along the vein, sliding out to meet the web between Poe’s thumb and forefinger.

A bitten-back whine escaped the Mandalorian: Poe’s cock stirred in response. He rubbed his free hand against it—not that the gesture relieved any of the pressure. Poe pulled back a moment to breathe, lips tingling and swollen, his chin damp.

He must look like a mess. Judging by the way the Mandalorian stroked his hair, it was a good kind of mess. His hand maintained a steady rhythm: not enough to get the Mandalorian off, but a promise that he planned to finish what he started.

Poe took a deep breath and plunged back down. Even in the time it had taken him to breathe, he wondered if he’d underestimated the girth of it: his jaw ached as he swallowed. This time, the Mandalorian’s moan was full-throated. Poe smiled, which eased the stretch of his throat, and sucked for all he was worth. This time, the Mandalorian was setting the pace, Poe only pulling away to inhale briefly before taking the Mandalorian’s cock as deep as he could. A whine was building in him, thready and muffled. The taste of him, the smell, the feeling—without being able to see, Poe was drowning in his other senses. He listened, and for a moment he’d swear the Mandalorian’s groans were so clear it couldn’t be behind a helmet. But that would mean—

‘Please,’ the Mandalorian whimpered. Poe echoed the sound, pulling away with a wet pop only to press something very much like a kiss to the tender skin. He descended once more and the Mandalorian’s shivers grew in waves. Poe ignored a desperate warning signalled by fingertips tapping on his temple. He mouthed and stroked and suckled until his hand was splayed on the Mandalorian’s abdomen, nose tickled by the soft, thick hair, avoiding choking through sheer willpower as the Mandalorian’s knees buckled and he came in Poe’s throat, filling his mouth. Poe kept the pressure up, exhaling sharply through his nose as he swallowed, drawing a broken noise out of the Mandalorian.

He released the Mandalorian’s cock with a pop, eliciting one final gasp as he did. Poe was panting roughly, mouth wet and open, chest flushed, his own cock aching against his belly. He bowed his head and the Mandalorian’s fingers petted his scalp. Another deep breath and he reached down, ready to bring himself off.

‘Wait,’ the Mandalorian said, and Poe didn’t question the order. ‘Come here.’

Hands drew him up, until he was tumbling onto the bed. He surged into the Mandalorian’s lap, straddling his thighs. Poe reached out for balance and found a bare shoulder. Strong, scarred arms wrapped around him. Poe was wonderstruck, his palm on the Mandalorian’s chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat. His hips ground thoughtlessly, trapping his cock between their bodies. The pressure wasn’t enough, and he whined more desperately than he’d intended.

A quiet chuckle. The Mandalorian’s hand snaked between them, curling around Poe’s cock. Poe shuddered at the length of his fingers, the breadth of his palm, the contrast of hard knuckles and soft skin—of course, leather gloves.

He bucked into the Mandalorian’s grip, erratic and needy. The Mandalorian’s touch was firm, steady, like he wanted to enjoy this more than finish the job. Poe clung to his shoulders, biting down hard on his own lip. The sting of it was enough to take the edge off, to hold back the whimpers growing higher in his throat. His chest was flush to the Mandalorian’s, a slippery heat building between them.

Poe searched blindly, desperate for contact. He expected to find a hand and instead there was a face.

He gasped. The Mandalorian’s lips were pressed to his cheek.

‘It’s okay,’ the Mandalorian murmured. ‘Come here.’

Fingers tangled in Poe’s hair, steering him into a kiss. Poe drank it in, an artless crash of lips and teeth. The Mandalorian was smiling, briefly, at Poe’s clumsiness. Poe took a full breath, resting their foreheads together, and started again. He cradled the Mandalorian’s face, finding a solid jaw and long cheekbones. He nudged his nose against the Mandalorian’s, learning the aquiline shape of it. He couldn’t hold back a gasp of surprise at being allowed to touch, to explore. This time, his lips only brushed the Mandalorian’s before he startled. A moustache. He hadn’t considered the idea of maintaining any kind of style under the helmet. Then again, he realised, why not?

Those lips were full, the lower one so plush it was an open invitation. Poe drew it into his mouth, suckling, feeling the low vibration as the Mandalorian groaned. Poe sank his teeth in, only enough to tease, and the Mandalorian’s thighs clenched underneath him. Then a tongue was pressing against his, hooking into his mouth and coaxing him open. The grip tightened on Poe’s cock, and Poe’s mouth fell open. His moaning was caught between their tongues, each spike of arousal sharpened by the graze of teeth. Poe knew he was clinging, clutching too tight to the Mandalorian’s face, hips stuttering. He bleated out a warning—or a plea, he didn’t know—and the Mandalorian nodded, a series of short kisses landing sweetly along Poe’s cheek. Poe’s face was scrunched, teeth clenched, his own whine ringing in his ears as the orgasm tore through him, wracking him with shivers. He huddled in the Mandalorian’s lap, riding out the bright bursting pleasure in that smooth, dextrous touch. His forehead dropped to rest on the Mandalorian’s shoulder and he gasped for breath, chest heaving, exhausted. The Mandalorian guided him to lay down on the mattress and Poe obeyed, pliant and boneless.

Sounds, and movement. The Mandalorian wasn’t in the bed with him, but Poe was stuck in too heavy a haze of bliss to take notice. He quivered when something warm and damp touched him—a tongue? No, a cloth, carefully dabbing him clean. He fumbled for contact and the Mandalorian caught his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before steering him to sit up.

‘You good?’

Poe inhaled slowly, straightening his spine. He nodded, a satisfied sigh tumbling out of him. ‘Real good.’

‘Good.’

Poe stretched, rolling his neck and scooting to sit at the edge of the bed. He heard more movement: this time, rustling. A gentle tapping at the side of the visor.

‘Take this off,’ the Mandalorian said. ‘I’m gonna show you something.’

Poe frowned. ‘You don’t have to—‘

‘It’s not my face,’ the Mandalorian dismissed the idea before Poe could finish. Poe recognised the slight muffling of beskar in his voice, now.

Poe lifted the visor away, squinting at the light. It took a moment to adjust, until the glowing blue in front of him took shape.

It was Poe’s face. The same face from the wanted holos, projected on a bounty puck the Mandalorian was holding in front of him. The Mandalorian was fully dressed again.

‘I don’t know what—‘

‘Yes, you do,’ the Mandalorian sighed. ‘There’s a bounty on you for ten thousand credits.’

‘Oh,’ Poe wondered if he should be flattered. ‘Wait, are you—?’

‘I took the job,’ the Mandalorian said bluntly.

‘Should I… uh, should I be running?’ Poe frowned. His clothes were strewn across the room, and the Mandalorian seemed to be in no hurry. Then again, a Mandalorian wouldn’t need long.

‘Yeah,’ the Mandalorian said. ‘But not from me. I get a week to bring you in myself, then my contract defaults.’

‘We’ve got a week?’ Poe’s imagination filled with everything it was possible to do while wearing a blindfold.

 _‘You’ve_ got a week to get as far as you can from the Core Worlds,’ the Mandalorian corrected him. He moved to the ship’s console, like he was plotting Poe’s escape route already.

‘Right,’ Poe took a deep breath, and nodded. ‘Why are you doing this?’

The Mandalorian looked at him—Poe guessed he did from the angle of the helmet, anyway. ‘You’re Resistance.’

‘Are _you?’_ Poe raised an eyebrow.

Another sigh. The Mandalorian tapped buttons at the console and removed a code cylinder. He tossed it to Poe, so fast that Poe had to swoop to catch it.

‘Black Sun’s shipping routes,’ the Mandalorian explained. ‘Follow that, you’ll find where they’re hiding your people.’

Poe turned the cylinder over in his hands. He’d never mentioned the prison ship. That was enough of an answer.

‘How do I thank you?’ his voice came out softer than he expected.

The Mandalorian made a noise that might have been a chuckle. ‘You can owe me a favour.’

Poe placed the cylinder carefully beside the bed, and hooked his finger through the strap of the blindfold. The Mandalorian’s head cocked in curiosity.

‘Have we got time for a favour?’ Poe asked.

The Mandalorian sighed. ‘I’ve got a babysitter on the clock.’

Poe’s eyes widened. ‘Sure, yeah. I get it.’

He got to his feet, reaching for his rumpled pants. Before he could step into them, those gloved fingers found their way under his chin again, tilting his face back up.

‘For another two hours,’ the Mandalorian explained.

Poe grinned. ‘That’s time for a favour.’


End file.
